Looking Out the Window

It’s past two a.m. and
I’m standing at my open window on the fifth floor, looking out into the night and
The cat is asleep on the recliner and
His peaceful little snores the only noise from inside the house and
I notice there is no moon, only some gathering clouds and a sad purple sky and
The wind is dancing with the neighbors’ curtains and the leaves of their plants and
I can smell the fragrance of flowers carried lightly on the air, as I always seem to at night, and
The soft sounds of the sleeping city, distant whirr of an air condition fan and maybe the creaking of a window swaying in the wind and
Dripping drops of water and rustling leaves and the cool whistling breeze every once in a while and
The road below, abandoned, left only to the stray cats of the night and the yellow of the streetlights and
Parked cars on the side of the street face the darkness alone and
I imagine all the neighbors snug asleep peacefully in their beds and
The only thing I can think of is this would be the perfect time to smoke a cigarette, if I smoked, and
I don’t dare put on any music or make a single sound and
I reach outside with my fingertips to feel the night air and
I wonder if this is how it is every night if only I’d take a minute to look out the window.

Friend

Friend
Who now walks the empty Sahara
Treeless immense desert land
Who nods his head rhythmically in dance
To the ancient melancholy of the dusty wind
Who points at the vast space
Between the sandy rocks
Says
Look, here, see
Evidence of my barren life

Friend
If you died now
And some deity were to pass judgement
Upon your sins and your deeds
Would you not taste heaven?

Friend
I have seen you carry
People twice and thrice your weight
For miles and miles and miles
And never once complained

Friend
Your head is full of stones
And your belly of cold ground iron
But my, oh my if you could only see
How you carry others to paradise

Friend
Sweet bliss has been taken from you
Snatched, stolen away into the night
You have been thrust into conscious eternity
To suffer a sentient life as a giver, a belover

Friend
When the darkness rises as a wave
To swallow your eyes and you inside
And your tendrils feel like they could snap
And your heart and your lungs follow
Remember then that the truth
It lies
Inside the vortex proper
Where the sun still shines its yellow light
And the wind and the rain much calmer

The Upside Down Side or Life as a Clone

the smell of wild flowers
and warm musk
on top of the smell of human breath
brings every muscle to the waltz
and every hair to its feet
and then
brakes

inside the red drum beating behind the bone wall
written on a small yellow rotten piece of paper
instructed inscriptions
from a long vegetated people

computers do not question
their code
so I think the only thing left of this poem
is to ask
Are you a computer?

Just by Sitting There

joy blown into my bones
like the breath of God that brought life to man
little lost boy’s heart shaking, quivering
here’s a steady hand to hold the sails
I’ve got sharp prickles and points
but my insides are turned into mush
and my hinges oiled
by just one smile
this must be how it feels like
to be inside a castle’s keep

Untitled

The grass fields are turning brown and dry and dying
There is pain in my throat and my head is spinning but
I’ve been seeing purple for a while now
Royal purple with the brown eyes
We are standing on a red hot spoon
Held above a stove fire
But I think I have found an insulator for my feet
And I can barely feel the heat
And in the cold of this autumn like winter
Here are hands to warm my hands
And a soul to maybe dance with my soul

Sandwich in the Dark

It was dark when we shared a sandwich
Watching ourselves meet
The sea and the mountain
Heartfelt laughter rings through the empty night air
Auras reach out, touch, and caress
Let each other in
There were no sparks
No fireworks. No electricity
Only a slowly intensifying torque
Driving us towards the center
And a warmth I felt
As the outside of my thigh brushed against yours
This is a new pace of running for me
And I can see there are hurdles ahead
But I like it
I don’t know why but
The moments of silence felt like home

For Love

My insides once swam in pure spirits
Gone is my bottomless pool
Green garden I’d picnic in
I’ve misplaced my comfort
My old rocking chair
I’d watch the sunset in
I can’t find my foot pillow
I’ve lost the warmth in my throat
The gallop in my ventricles
I long for the vast ocean
For the substance I bathed in once
Intoxicated in once

I want to, I need to become a vessel again
A jar, a bottle, a container
To store untouched honey and nectar
A vial for flowing liquid gold
My hands a bowl
My mouth an opening
My heart a home
For love

And Now, Images

Canvas of paper
White proud paper and blue black ink
Like floating fluid, notes of music
Soft brush strokes, to draw in you
The most colorful pictures

Walk, you’re not walking
Close your eyes
See you, dreaming
See me, dreamer
White eyed observer

I don’t know who created you
But we all know who made you
And you should know too,
You did
You with your half open lips and your bag of broken sticks

The moon to your back, walker
Run now, barefoot talker
Cobblestones will cushion your leather soles
Run through the empty silent streets
Echoes of your own breath behind the sheets

Tired but not dead
No, not dead, hear that heart beat
You are a rocket
Fly, part the clouds
Fly, blue morning summer sky

When you come
To the place of color, the place of images
Angels dance around clouds
Warm tears of ecstasy bound
From where your eyes used to be found

Pain? No
Painless reality is now
You’ve risen from your sleep
But feel your dream, real
And woken with you

Look now, your body grows
Your spirit expands to fill the holes
Yesterday maker, walker, dreamer, runner
Tomorrow surreal flying essence
And now, images of varicolor

Ninth

So here lie
The merry men
Delirious and stinking of desire
The children of the sun
Each alone in their beds
Alone with their demonic thoughts
Wasting away into the day, the night, the day, the night
Slumbering like some long forgotten brown book on a dusty shelf
Tired faces
Two handed tremor
Twisted and demented
Purple nonsense half the time
Pink brain pain the other half
Crusade with these pills, and those, and these
Tired but not dead
It’s so tough to be tough
Red eyes look through me and ask
When will I be better?